Healing
by Lavenderangel
Summary: Good bye, my sweet Kal-el." And he's left screaming for the only person who can't come. Post-Memoria.


Title: Healing  
  
Author: Lala  
  
Rating: G  
  
Pairing: Clark/Lana. Kinda.  
  
Summary: "Good bye, my sweet Kal-El." And he's left screaming for the only person who can't come.  
  
Spoilers: Memoria.  
  
Author's Notes: I had to do it. This is different, and not my best writing. But it would not leave me alone. I blame the Clana CD.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
Dedication: For my mom. She'll never read this, but it seemed fitting. Totally random, too.  
  
---  
  
He'd thought it would get better.  
  
Knowing he hadn't forgotten her, knowing that his biological mother had not always been lost to him, knowing he'd called for her before anyone else would make everything better.  
  
Would make the pain go away.  
  
And it did.  
  
It made the guilt go away.  
  
But he didn't expect to miss her.  
  
Didn't anticipate waking at night, craving an unfamiliar embrace. Straining his mind for a stray detail, something he might have missed.  
  
A glimpse of her.  
  
But all he remembers is the feel of her arms and the murmur of her voice. Low and calm and agonized.  
  
He wants to tell her not to worry.  
  
Wants to tell her he's loved.  
  
Wants to tell her he's happy.  
  
But is he?  
  
He cannot think straight. Every time he closes his eyes he relives it.  
  
"Good bye, my sweet Kal-El." Resignation interlaced with pain that tears at his heart.  
  
Sleep does not give him a respite either.  
  
Again and again he sees it. Hears her. Feels her.  
  
Each time he thinks he sees a new detail. Every time he feels that he's growing closer. That if the dream will last just a second longer, he'll get a chance.  
  
A chance to see her.  
  
Then finally, he does.  
  
She's lowering him into the ship and she hesitates.  
  
She speaks the words he's longed to hear. "I love you." And he knows.  
  
Knows that this time, this time he'll see her.  
  
He opens his mouth to reply, moves to look up at her.  
  
"I…"  
  
Then it's gone.  
  
She's gone.  
  
"Lara! Lara! Lara!" And he's left screaming for the only person who can't come.  
  
--  
  
"Clark!"  
  
"Lara! Lara! Lara." Yelling is impossible. His voice is rough and he can only whimper her name.  
  
"Clark. Clark." Soft hands. Soothing voice.  
  
"Lara?"  
  
In desperation he forces his eyes open. Hoping, praying it will be her. Needing to see, needing to know.  
  
And once again his hope is shattered.  
  
It's not Lara. She's not the one leaning over him. Those aren't her hands shaking his shoulder and stroking his hair.  
  
"Lana."  
  
Her name comes out small. "I thought… I'm sorry… I…"  
  
"Shh, shh." She must sense the tears are near. Must know that speaking, that even thinking is too much. "Shh."  
  
She's trying to calm him. Trying to help him.  
  
Can anything help him? He doesn't think so.  
  
But he can't tell her that.  
  
She's his only hope. So he tries to believe her whispers. Convinces himself that what she's saying is true.  
  
Pulls her close.  
  
Tries to pretend that her arms are someone else's.  
  
But he can't. He's tired of living a lie.  
  
He prepares to let go. To extricate himself from her embrace that is filled with it's own unique love. Different from Lara's. Different from Martha's. Special.  
  
Essential.  
  
"Lana?" Tentative whisper. Tremulous voice.  
  
"Yes?" Hesitant. This is the second time in less than a week she's found one of her friends screaming for a person she's never heard of.  
  
"Do you remember your mother?"  
  
All apprehension leaves her. Because she understands. This she knows. This she can relate to.  
  
"A little bit, yes." She strokes his hair. "Is this about your biological mother, Clark?"  
  
He nods against her shoulder. "I saw her."  
  
"You saw her?" Her hold tightens ever so slightly as fear begins to creep back into her.  
  
"I… I relived my first memory. She was in it."  
  
She's not quite sure how to respond. She remembers Laura Lang yes, but in disjointed fragments. She remembers afternoons planting flowers from Nell's. Evenings watching cartoons. Warm chocolate chip cookies. Those hugs that only moms know how to give.  
  
And sometimes, in her dreams, she remembers the sound of her voice. The feel of her embrace. The smell of her hair. The essence of unconditional love.  
  
"I miss her." She's not sure if she thought it before or at the same time Clark says it allowed.  
  
"I know." And she does. Because she misses her mom, too.  
  
And she moves closer to Clark. To the only person who knows the pain of losing his parents. Hoping that in his time of need, he'll be able to give her just a little more comfort. The smallest bit of hope. Something. Anything.  
  
And he strengthens his embrace.  
  
And they hold each other.  
  
Heal each other.  
  
Or try to. 


End file.
